Page 22 of Montana Justice

Lachlan

The surveillance photos Beckett had texted me looked bad enough on my phone screen. In person, standing at the edge of Pawsitive Connections’ property, the evidence of someone casing the place made my jaw clench hard enough to hurt.

“Find anything?” I asked as Beckett emerged from a cluster of pines, his expression grim.

“Oh, I found something all right.” He gestured for me to follow. “Multiple somethings.”

We picked our way through the underbrush, fallen leaves crunching under our boots. About thirty yards in, Beckett stopped and pointed to the ground. The earth was disturbed in a rough rectangle, grass flattened and torn where something heavy had been placed.

“Tripod marks,” I said, crouching to examine the impressions. Photography equipment left distinctive patterns, and these were textbook. “How many spots?”

“Three so far. All with clear sight lines to different parts of the property.” Beckett pulled out his phone, showing me photos he’d already taken.

“This one overlooks the main delivery entrance. That one has a perfect view of the back training field where they park the trailers. And the third covers the employee parking area.”

I stood, scanning the tree line. Someone had done their homework, finding the exact spots that would give them maximum coverage of Pawsitive’s operations. “Cigarette butts?”

“Over here.” He led me to a fallen log about ten feet from the tripod marks. Half a dozen cigarette butts littered the ground beside it, all the same brand. “Marlboro Reds. Fresh enough that morning dew hadn’t broken them down yet.”

I bagged a couple of the butts, though I doubted we’d get usable DNA. Still, procedure was procedure. “Tire tracks?”

“Back at the access road. Someone pulled off and parked behind those bushes. Would’ve been invisible from the main road, especially at night.”

We made our way back to examine the tracks. Deep impressions in the soft ground, the tread pattern clear enough to photograph. “Looks like a truck. Heavy one.”

“That’s what I thought too.” Beckett rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture I recognized as his thinking pose. “Whoever this was, they spent hours here. Multiple cigarettes, multiple vantage points. They were thorough.”

“Too thorough for casual interest.” I took more photos, my jaw tightening with each shot. “They were mapping the place. Learning routines, delivery schedules, shift changes.”

“Which brings us back to the timing.” Beckett’s voice dropped. “That Highway 37 checkpoint came up empty. Now, someone’s scouting businesses that would make perfect trafficking covers. It’s connected, Lach. Has to be.”

I couldn’t argue with his logic. The pieces fit too well to be coincidence. “Speaking of connected, I’ve been running some preliminary checks on department computers. Looking for anything unusual in access logs, email patterns, that kind of thing.”

“Any luck?”

“Nothing obvious. But I’m not exactly a computer expert. I can run basic queries, check log-in times, but if someone’s being clever about it…” I shrugged, frustrated by my own limitations.

“You need Travis.”

I’d been thinking the same thing, but hearing Beckett say it out loud made it real.

Travis Hale was Warrior Security’s secret weapon—a computer genius who could find digital needles in virtual haystacks.

He was also a hermit who’d built himself a compound on the south side of town and rarely left it.

“Think he’d do it?”

Beckett nodded. “For something like this? Yeah. Travis may be antisocial, but he’s got no tolerance for dirty cops or drug dealers. Plus, he can investigate without anyone at the department knowing. Complete electronic surveillance without leaving a trace.”

“Set it up.” The words tasted bitter. Having to investigate my own people, suspecting someone I worked with every day of betraying their oath—it went against everything I believed in. But I believed in protecting this town more.

We spent another hour documenting the scene, but we’d found everything there was to find. As Beckett loaded his equipment back into his truck, I glanced toward the main barn where I knew Piper was working.

“I’m going to check in with Lark,” I said. “Let her know what we found.”

Beckett’s knowing look said he saw right through me, but he didn’t call me on it. “I’ll reach out to Travis. With any luck, he’ll have something for us within a day or two.”

After he left, I walked toward the main part of Pawsitive Connections, taking the long route past the training rings and smaller barns. I spotted Lark in the distance, working with one of the therapy dogs, and gave her a wave. She returned it but stayed focused on her training session.

As I approached the main barn, I heard something that made me stop in my tracks.

Singing.

Not just any singing—Piper’s voice, clear and sweet, carrying through the afternoon air. I’d never heard her sing before. Hell, I’d barely heard her sound happy. But there she was, her voice lifting in what sounded like an old folk song about horses and mountain meadows.

I eased closer to the barn entrance, staying in the shadows just inside. She was in Duchess’s stall, brushing the pregnant mare while Caleb watched from his carrier propped safely on a hay bale. Every few verses, she’d turn to our son, singing directly to him, making him wave his tiny fists.

“That’s right, sweet boy,” she said between songs, her voice lighter than I’d ever heard it. “Duchess likes the music, doesn’t she? Makes her calm for when her baby comes.”

The mare stood perfectly still under Piper’s ministrations, occasionally turning her head to nuzzle at Piper’s shoulder. It was like watching a completely different person—this Piper was relaxed, open, genuinely happy in a way I’d never seen.

She laughed—actually laughed—when Duchess lipped at her pocket, looking for treats. “I already gave you two carrots, you greedy girl. You’re worse than Maverick, and he’s supposed to be the difficult one.”

This was who she could be without whatever weight she carried. Young and free and finding joy in simple things. She looked her actual age instead of someone who’d lived too much life too fast.

She started another song, this one about a girl who loved a boy from the wrong side of town. Her voice caught on certain lyrics, like they meant something personal, but she pushed through. I found myself holding my breath, not wanting to break whatever spell had settled over the barn.

But Caleb spotted me first. His excited babble made Piper turn, and the transformation was instant. The song died on her lips. Her shoulders went rigid. That familiar wariness slammed back into place like a door closing.

“Lachlan.” Color flooded her cheeks. “I didn’t know you were there.”

“I didn’t mean to startle you.” I stepped fully into the barn, hating how the light dimmed in her eyes. “You have a beautiful voice.”

She focused on the currycomb in her hand, running her thumb along the bristles. “I was just passing time. Keeping Caleb entertained.”

“Is that what you were doing? Because from where I stood, it looked like you were happy.”

The word happy made her flinch—like she didn’t deserve happiness. “I should finish up here. Duchess needs her water topped off, and I still have two stalls to muck?—”

“Piper.” I moved closer, slow and careful, like approaching a spooked horse. “You’re allowed to be happy. You know that, right?”

She stared at me for a long moment, and I caught a glimpse of something raw and desperate in her expression before she looked away. “Happiness isn’t really in the cards for people like me.”

“People like you?”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t.” I stopped just outside Duchess’s stall, giving Piper space but not letting her retreat completely. “Tell me what you mean.”

She was quiet for so long I thought she wouldn’t answer. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. “People who’ve done things. Bad things. People who don’t deserve—” She cut herself off, shaking her head.

“You deserve good things, Piper. You deserve to sing and laugh and not feel guilty about it.”

That seemed to break something in her. Her eyes filled with tears she quickly blinked away, but not before I saw them. “You don’t understand.”

“Then help me understand.”

But she was already closing off again, that wall slamming back into place. I recognized a tactical retreat when I saw one, so I changed approaches.

“What time are you done here?”

She glanced at the barn clock. “About thirty minutes. Why?”

“I want to take you and Caleb to dinner. In town.”

Her head snapped up. “I can cook?—”

“I know you can. You’ve been cooking amazing meals every night. But I want to take you out. Let someone else do the cooking for once.” I saw her about to protest and added, “A real dinner. No rushing, no dishes to clean up after. Just you, me, and Caleb enjoying a meal together.”

“Lachlan—”

“One dinner. That’s all I’m asking.”

She bit her lower lip, glancing between me and Caleb. I could see the war playing out in her eyes—wanting to say yes but afraid of…something. Always afraid of something I couldn’t name.

“Okay,” she finally whispered.

“Great. I’ll help you finish up here, then we can head home to change.”

Her eyes widened. “Change?”

“Nothing fancy. Just want to make it nice.” I grinned, trying to lighten the moment. “Been a while since I’ve been on a proper date.”

The word date made her freeze again, but before she could backtrack, I grabbed a pitchfork and headed for the next stall. Sometimes action was better than words.